Scars
by Vassy
Summary: Her eyes were not open, yet she knew she was awake. Awareness crept back into her bruised and broken limbs just as the light of the day seeps across the forest floor, but she wasn’t sure how she knew that. UPDATED CHAPTER 4 NOW UP!just give it a go.....
1. Chapter 1

A/N-I actually really dont have a clue where this is going, but when inspiration bites i sometimes feel the need to let it bleed a little before sticking on a plaster.Also, i am aware that the word "her" is included, but,although nothing else is clear i can gurantee that this is not going to be a Mary-sue and that Legolas will not be popping his blondiness into my plot. Hey, I like Leggy, the Tolkein version if Im honest, but it's just not my thing

reveiw if you want-but please be honest- i want to learn and it's real damn hard to get impatial comments on stuff from people you know

thanks a bunch

Her eyes were not open, yet she knew she was awake. Awareness crept back into her bruised and broken limbs just as the light of the day seeps across the forest floor, but she wasn't sure how she knew that. She didn't know, or couldn't remember if she had ever known what the sun was, or indeed a forest. Hers was the harsh reality that she was within now, the rough hewn mosaic of cold granite on the floor, the leather of her hard tongue lying in her mouth screaming for moisture. Pain was her only memory, what had become before was lost to her, her mind had let it loose so as not to cause more suffering with the memories of light and water, of tree, bush and bird, of love and companionship.

Something urged her to open her eyes, but she could not justify it to herself. Why? Why awake to the undefinable, to another few hours staring into the unfathomable darkness trying to see were the roof actually was before slipping back into the oblivion. She had spent months, maybe even years staring above her into the void above her head, seeing or maybe imagining, she did not which, long hard beams criss-crossing over her head. She had thought once that she could maybe have mounted them, that she could have pulled the deadweight of matter that seemed to belong to her over the dead lifeless bark and up, away, out of the fog that filled her thoughts, for this could not be all there was in existence, there had to be an end to this somewhere, as there was an end to everything.

That was a comforting ideal, that there had to be an end to everything, nothing was or is eternal. And so, when after many hours of chasing this thought through the murky recesses of her mind, she came to the conclusion that if that was true, then there must be an end to her as well. She prayed, she did not to whom or what she prayed, but that it would come soon.

And as she once again came to this conclusion behind the seclusion of her eyelids, she began to laugh. A harsh, cold,cruel laugh of madness that came unbidden from within her like a slumbering beast rearing its ugly head. The noise snaked up into the hollowness of the room that surrounded her, it seeped through walls and out into thethe open air, as if it too strived for the freedom that it's creator had been denied.

Many heard that evening and were moved. Not because it was beautiful or melancholy. Because it was not. It was wrong. Unnatural. They were moved because every fibre of their beings strained andtried to pull away from that sound. It made their hairs stand on end and their palms sweat. They, who were created through pain and suffering could not bear to hear that laugh, and tried to shut their ears.

Except him. In a room as dark as her cell sat one who savoured it. One who also sat in all consuming darkness that evening drank in those precious vibrations like a fine wine. And a twisted, broken,mutilated mouth turned up at the corner's inwhat could've been intentedas asmile. She was ready.


	2. Chapter 2

The floor of the lamp lit corridor seemed to both love and loathe him. Softly it endured the caress of his billowing black shroud, which snaked and slide across it with no hindrance, and in the flickering shadows cast by the torches, the material seemed to move with a life of it's own. But the flagstones resisted his feet. They did not yield for the force which he placed upon it, again and again. Each time his metal shod foot hit the stone, the whole hallway seemed to yell out in indignation, so that his passage could not go unnoticed. The walls reverberated with the thud thud thud of his footsteps.

So she heard him long before she ever saw him. It was the clang of metal upon stone that snapped her out of the fitful doze which she had slipped into, and, with a sickening clarity of mind she knew that whoever was walking out there in the world beyond her door was coming closer, and was coming for her.

She made a futile attempt to move-where she was trying to move to she did not know, there was no escape from the tiny round room , she knew that, but the sudden fear that the footsteps had instilled in her had give her need of action. However, even though she put all her energy towards it, all she could do was open her eyes.

He stood as a statue while the sluggish beast unwound the chains and undid the locks one by one. After what had seemed like an eternity the orc made an awkward bow and stood aside, seeming pleased with himself for completing such a momentous task. The cloaked being step forward, unravelling the great key which had been tied around his wrist as he did so, and slid the hunk of twisted iron into to the rust incrusted lock. And with flick of his wrist and a push, the great oak door creaked open.

She winced and covered her eyes as the firelight washed over the slabs of her cell, for to her the light seemed to be unbearably bright. And it was the sight of her cowering behind her hands which greeted her visitors.

She was wretched to behold. Months without any proper food or water had left her weak and diminished. Her skin clung to her naked body as if afraid to let go, a delicate paper thin layer that seemed about to tear at any moment. Every laboured rise and fall of her chest made it appear that her ribs would rip it asunder, for they protruded out her sides in a most grotesque and unnatural nature. No muscle seemed to remain upon her, the line of every bone could be clearly seen along her limbs and every joint seemed to be enlarged to the point of deformity. Her head, the only thing that was actually still of normal size, hung at the end of her tiny neck like a deadweight, every lump and bump upon it visible due to the absence of hair upon her bone coloured scalp There was not one part of her naked body that wasn't damaged, bruised limbs, chaffed thighs, grazed hands, even the skin that stretched over her skull , it was adorned with partially healed wounds from the rather rough job that the orcs had done when shearing her hair. "As close to the skin as possible" their master had said, unfortunately they had taken a lot of that off as well, so now her shining white crown had turned a sickly brown with the dried blood they didn't think to wash off.

The four orcs that had accompanied him were smiling at their handiwork, it made them swell with pride to know that this once beautiful, free creature of light was now cowering beneath their masters feet. And it was their doing, they had inflicted the pain that had made her scream, provided the food that ensured she was only just on the brink of surviving, they had been responsible for the darkness and solitude that made her forget……

She lifted a shaky hand away from her eyes, willing them, even though the light seemed intent on burning them out her sockets, to open, so that she may look upon her imprisoner, so that she may look upon anything at all that was not darkness. He stood by the door, his robes pooled around him so it appeared he had simply grown out from the ground and stood in that one spot between her and the real world for eternity , a smooth black tree crowned not with leaves but with thorns. Thorns that jutted out at awkward angles with sharp straight lines. Leaves weren't straight. He was a tree you could not climb, a tree you could not gain fruit as sweet as the sun to sustain you, nor a tree that could give you shelter from the wind or the rain, the sun or the snow, or the ice. He had no branches. No leaves. Just thorns. He was a tree that could hurt you, could reduce your hands to jagged shreds if you ever touched him. He was………..

"Death" she thought, "that is what he is, a tree of death"

Through the thick iron slats of his helm he studied her carefully, taking in every detail, "for" he thought "It will be the smallest twitch or jerk that will indicate how far gone she is, the answer to my question will not present itself without resistance………….."

It was then that he noticed her straining to lift her eyelids, and he smiled. It was so easy, she was forfeiting herself by being so……….insolent as to look upon him.

The tree moved, it glided across the floor much in the same way a great bird swoops down and skims the sea, and drew towards her. She felt the tired muscle beneath her breastbone grow tight as it tried in vain to give her the strength to get away from its now outstretched fingers. "Move!" it screamed. "Get up and fight against this". But before she had time to even draw breath he had crouched before her and was running the yellow nails of his withered hand across the roundness of her sunken cheek. He sighed, for although she was bruised and bloody, her skin to his touch felt as smooth as fine silk, the touch of human flesh, warm human flesh was something he missed. She drew back slightly, his touch sent shivers down every nerve in her body, and he grabbed her face with his whole hand, digging his nails in to the soft flesh till he drew blood, making sure she could not wriggle from his grasp. But she seemed beyond all feeling, for the only indication that she was aware of any discomfort whatsoever was a brief flicker of her bloodshot eyes.

But he still was not mollified. There was one thing yet he had to know before he could precede any further. For if he went ahead and fulfilled his command without first ensuring this simple fact then it could easily backfire, and the consequences would be dire, for him and all others under the command of his master.

"what is your name little one" he rasped into her ear. He felt the muscle in her throat move up and down in a swallowing action beneath his thumb, and expected her too speak, but no sound departed her lips, indeed, she did not open her mouth.

Her mind was in turmoil. For what had seemed like for forever she had just an emptiness, not even the edge of thoughts to occupy her consciousness. But now, his question seemed to open the floodgates to a world of images suppressed in the corners of soul. The flowed through her behind her eyelids in a great wave, rolling into and over one another like the breaking of the surf so that she could define nothing. And then, as suddenly it was there, it disappeared, leaving her only with the blankness of before, except it was worse now. She realised that great gaping void within her was once filled, and now she felt hollow, empty, lost. She did not know her name.

He had pulled his hand away from her as she began to stare, aware that this was a crucial moment, that this would break or make her fate, and his. And when the blank look remained and the look of panic filled her eyes he let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. They had waited a long time for this, the impatience had made him weary, there was so much for her to do, so much that could be achieved with her under his control. But he had to wait, for over a year all that could be done was to sit and do nothing, or just to observe. And now, today, this very moment, it was time for action, time to begin the process that would ensure his dominion over all, except his master.

With the back of his left hand he struck her across the face, forcing her head to hit of the stone. She did not cry out, or even moan but merely attempted to pull her soiled face up again, trying with every fibre to retain consciousness so that she might catch something, a glimpse, the tiniest inkling, of what had just coursed through her. What was that shadow on the path, what direction had the wind been blowing that leaf that flitted across her face.

" When you are asked a question you shall answer it uloga snaga! Do you understand, Gashn!"

His voice was low and crawled up the floor into her very bones, pulsating so that it echoed in her head till she felt dizzy.

" Either you are so incredibly quiet that your words have been lost to the air" and at this his mouth was again twisted into that horrible grimace, which made the lacerations around his purple lips split open wider and seep. "Or you again have disobeyed me" his words hung in the stagnant air for a moment while he waited for a response, but their was none.

"Perhaps your throat is dry to articulate maath-izub, allow us to whet your whistle…..Trutharb" he nodded to the heavy set orc nearest to the door he stepped forward, pulling a brimming wine skin made from around his neck and jerking the cork from it as he hobbled towards her crippled form. He was very heavy set, his naked belly hung over the black leather sword belt he wore and had bandied legs that bent at out when he walked.

Hauling her up by the scruff of her neck he prised open her jaw with his meaty, calloused hands and began to try and pour a thick, syrup liquid down her gullet. But even though the pressure upon her face was almost enough to break bones and snap out teeth, her brief reunion with her memories had strengthened her soul, if not her body, so she resisted, refused to open moth so the luke-warm serum slid down her face and unto her chest and the floor. Another of the orcs came forward, this one with a cruel face and a beaked nose, lending his strength to the task in hand by pulling her lips apart and digging his claw like nails into her ribs. His grip was like a vice, and she found herself yielding, beginning to taste the trickle of sickly sweet moistness down the back of her throat. She felt the bile rise within her, and almost immediately began to violently retch, her tiny frame convulsing in horrible spasms. The orcs released their hold and took a step back, causing her to fall hard, only just catching herself with her barely healed hands so that her head did not crack on the cold ground, she had only enough strength to let herself slide down.

Something was wrong. Cold sweat seeped from every pore and a tingling sensation which started at the base of her spine began to filter through her. Her stomach attempted to make short work of the little of the substance she had swallowed by expelling it immediately ,but although her body shook with the effort they were dry heaves, the only product being the throaty sound that filled the tiny cold room with every tremor that went through her.

They watched on, motionless, not quite sure what their next move was to be. It wasn't long till all pairs of eyes swivelled to him, for it was his command they waited, for, they could do more till he was entirely satisfied. Anticipation floated through the air like an almost invisible thread of blue smoke.

Finally, with a turn on his heel and a swish of his abundant robes he advanced towards the door with long, purposeful strides, his footfalls again almost unbearably audible.

"Come" he said, not even bothering to turn his head to ensure their obedience. But he knew their would never be any cause for alarm for the ors had immediately picked up her arms and began to drag her out into the world beyond the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

A/ N

Firstly- Mucho Thanko for the reviews, for always and forever they will be sincerely appreciated. But I won't bribe you to write more…….looks around well I would if I had anything worth giving, unfortunately I don't even own my flat, its rented. Would anyone like a small yellow lighter?

On that note of not owning anything I have to also say

Disclaimer: you guessed it, I am not actually Tolkein ,and therefore anything that bears a slight resemblance to his work is his and not mine. surprising eh?

So, merrily on we trot

The Niin-mor was beginning to take effect. That much was clear to the orc on her left hand side as he roughly secured her wrist and arm with the thick leathered buckled bindings. Good. He had wondered when they went to retrieve her if they had perhaps gone to far. She seemed on the brink of death, and her mind quite addled. No good to anyone then. Well not entirely true, there was meat on her yet.

He banished that thought from his mind as soon as it appeared, knowing full well that The Master wanted her for more than just a spit roast. This pure,_ putrid, _creature had a very important part to play, and he Shuklagl, had been giving the chance to aid in her creation. He didn't know if he was excited or revolted.

He grunted as the particularly stiff strap he was working on finally slipped into the notch, and stepped back, glancing at The Mouths progress with the ornately decorated wooden chest behind him. The heavy pinewood lid had been lifted back, revealing the thick velvet covering of the inside, and from within this his master was retrieving fist sized hunks of black rock. He paused when he felt Shuklagl's eyes on him, but did not turn his helm to face him, he was above such things.

"Yeeeees" he rasped. It was disturbing how absolutely threatening he could make that little word, it seemed to crawl all over the room, scuttling like a bug around his servants who were stood all about the torch lit tower chamber, questioning, daring, willing them to distract him any further from his task.

Shuklagl cleared his throat. Being the most high ranking soldier in the room he felt it was his duty to speak on behalf of all those gathered, even though personal experience warned that when The Mouth, his master, took that tone of voice it could cost him his life. Or worse.

"She has been properly secured my lord" his words seemed no more than a snarl, but He knew that such inflection that would indicate respect for authority could not be found in an orcs words, all they knew how to do was snarl. He had put up with it for what seemed like a millennia.

The tarnished silver of his headgear was stroked with the deep amber glow of the torches and threw gaping shadows across the wall as he turned his shielded face to rough hewn wooden platform she lay anchored to. Burnished leather straps strained against every shallow rise of her chest. Her limbs, frail though they were, were also secured. Her arms above her head so that her that prominence of her ribs against the frailty of her skin seemed doubly so. He was struck at how small she actually was.

The bones of her arms so minute, they were like a birds, her fingers delicate, her cheekbones, although far too severe in her hollow face to be considered attractive, high and straight. Her skin was a sickly milky white, but his fingers remembered the silkiness of it when he had touched it earlier. Even in her depilated state, he could see her potentional. Yes. What she could become.

One by one the five hunks of black rock were placed around her, one just above her head, on the wafer thin skin above her heart, just beyond the reach of each hand, and down by her feet. He lowered each one so reverently and so slowly that Shuklagl began to wonder if they would ever be done with this. He didn't like it, this, this mysticism. It was all too, well complicated was not the word. His job, his purpose was to kill and do hard labour, he didn't like being involved with anything you couldn't see to stick a hunk of metal through.

The Mouth's mouth was now stretched wide in his oozing snarl that passed for his smile. He was excited, it had been a long time doing any proper summoning, or anything like this for that matter. When he was young and a man that had been his forte, his purpose, it had been that which had brought him to the attention of the dark lord, and his rather suprising skill which had secured his high status and standing with him to this day.

Nothing moved. Even the flicker of the sputtering flames seemed to still. They stood in this deafening silence for what seemed, at least to Shuklagl, an age. The orcs arrayed around the room, like him, were trying not to breathe and kept throwing furtive sideways glances in the direction of their master, who stood beside the slab of wood the girl was secured to. It looked as if he'd fallen asleep, with his head lowered on his chest, and Shuklagl almost had to stifle a laugh.

Then it began. It started as no more than a whisper, and then became a low guttural murmur, steadily rising in volume and pitch. The wind began to sing through the thick stone walls. With a slow sinouisity that was almost painful to watch He raised his arms and head. The long black folds of his garb snaked their way to the floor and pooled upon it, rustling upon the flagstones.

She began to struggle, her her body convulsing with some unseen tide, her face a contortion of pain. And then, it was no longer unseen. Shuklagl saw. With cold dread and disbelif he witnessed the blackness that began to swirl around the walls, that the slow monotanaus rising and falling of that shadow. It passed over her as a wave, lapping over her face and limbs only to withdraw once more, to sink back into the very walls so that it could return with increased velocity.

Shuklagl now shook with the vibration of His masters unearthly utterance, it was if a whole army's chant filled the room, a full bodied choir of faceless voice with the song of the storm as its accompaniment. For not only could he hear the wind, he could feel it, the room churned with the force of it.

He watched with horror as the shadow leapt up and not only engulfed the girl, but his master as well, sifting and out his body like great knives, sifting through cloth and skin, smoking into his face which was now spread wide with the intensity of his shout, his voice, now a roar so as to be heard over the wind, feverish, almost strained.

Then, his hand, which until this moment had been flung wide, suspended in the air, began to make to the slow journey, guided by the snakey tendrils of shadow, to above the girl, who ,on feeling this (for her eyes were closed tight in pain), began to scream. He turned his wrist round, so that the palm lay facing her navel, and then began to stroke the air above her. With every invisible carress her body strained against her bindings, trying to meet his hand. It beacame a claw, which strained and pulled some invisible thread from within her very core.

Something erupted within in her, and the dark cloud that was swirling around her,surged into her every pore.

The straps snapped, the Mouth was thrown back against the wall, and the thunder of the wind ceased so instantly it was as if it had died.

The only sound Shuklagl could hear in that instaneous deafening silence was his own laboured breathing, and he realised with shame that he was cowering against the wall. With trepidation he brought his eyes back to the table. She was still there. Sprawled across the splintered wood. And she wasn't breathing. Wasn't moving…

As he sat paralysed he watched in horror as something snaked its way from, from inside her. It slithered out from the small indent of her navel, an inky blankness that moved across her skin like ivy, crawling up her abdomen concaved from starvation , coiling beneath and around the curve of her small breast, then around the the top of the other, over her shoulder, and up to her neck, as if it would throttle her. And there it stopped. Stopped writhing, stopped moving. And became no more than a mark. As if it was painted on. But Shuklagl knew different. Shauklagl had seen it. That was the mark the shadow had left upon.

And just as he began to think that it was the mark of death, that it was to show that the black void had claimed her for eternity, her eyes snapped open.

And they, like her skin, were filled with the black inkiness of that terrible power.

And his master began to laugh.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N- lost my yellow lighter, but do not fear, for I am now in possession of a rather huge box of matches. Just thought you might be interested………..

Oh yeah, on a more literary and far more relevant note, for some reason I am finding it far too easy too write from the point of view of an Orc, it just seems to be what is the flow, and seeing how I am not quite sure who the girl is yet I find it an odd concept to write from her point of view. Let me know if you think it is working. (or not as the case may be)

Vass x

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And so she lived yet. The world had turned, the seasons altered, and he had watched the moon, a beacon in the violet of the winter sky wax and wane many times with no thought and less regard for the girl whose mutilation had been sole his purpose for so long.

She had disappeared.

He thought her perished, if he thought of her at all. It was of little consequence of him, just another stinking corpse to litter the already putrid hollows of the sewers. But, Orc though he may be, Shuklagl was not stupid. That was a common misconception many who he had crossed paths with in his lifetime had been in possession of. They lived to regret it, but not very long.

No, he knew now that she was a creature no longer to be disregarded.

The door was not locked this time, nor was a torch needed in order to see within the enclosures of the chamber, it had windows. It was not a cell. And she no longer a prisoner.

She was by one of them now, the blue grey light of the winter sun seeping through it making Shuklagl blink and refocus his gaze. He hated sunlight, yet she seemed unaffected by its brightness. Its haze caressed the curve of her cheek and cast her long limbed shadow onto to the floor in streaks of ebony as she stood, legs slightly apart and arms clasped behind her back. Like a soldier standing at ease. Her eyes, unlike the blank vessels of his memory, now brightly alert and narrowed as she gazed out onto the rolling hills and vales which lay outside the seclusion of the walls.

That was the first thing he noticed, she was standing. The second was that she was clothed. Her breasts, already small, were bound close to her body with burnished leather, wound round many times and over her shoulders but invisibly secured, so it appeared to be a whole garment rather than just a loose strap of cloth. From the shoulders extended sleeves, weaved of thread so fine that the gleaming ivory of her skin was visible through it, like a spider had painstakingly entwined a intricate cobweb of his finest silk to follow the curve and dips of her sinewy muscled arms, describing not the rather simple pattern of their usual hexagonal template, but rather motifs and symbols of circles. These adorned the long reach of her limbs to the wrists wherein they seemed to disappear beneath the hard wearing fingerless gloves which served as a covering for her elegantly tapered hands.

On her lower half she wore breaches of the same highly worked hide as that which held tight her bust, the leather so well fitting that it clung to her legs like a second skin, making visible the well formed and well used muscles which now rippled beneath them. Although diminutive in comparison to the orcs, it could not be doubted that the length of her legs held a long stride. She wore no boots, her only foot covering being more of that same flexible cloth, snugly secured around her lower leg, crisscrossing as it laced itself around her calf and entirely encompassing her whole foot so that only her toes were exposed to the air

Her navel was bare, its alabaster sheen a stark contrast against the black ash of her attire. And on it the mark, like a brand, still snaked its way up her abdomen, sliding under her clothing and coiling threateningly around her throat, a sinuousness scythe of thorns.

But for all that she might as well have still been naked, for even beneath her coverings every small twitch of her new strength, of muscles that had not existed when she was no more than a shivering wretch, seemed only accentuated .

Shuklagl could see every slight straining, tensing, as if she was not encumbered at all the weight, not restricted by the hold it had on her bare skin. She was free to move exactly as she pleased, and for some reason that seemed to be a slight unnerving thought. Someone, his master, had gone to so much trouble to ensure that her raiment was one which allowed her complete flexibility. Not usually a consideration when clothing a woman, but then again, he was sure that her purpose was not to be that of a lady. The glisten of her still bone white scalp, although clean and healed, still void of all hair vouched for that.

He had doubt that she had heard them enter, for they made no effort to remain silent Indeed they fairly trudged in, the clang of metal upon metal as their weapons jogged against chest plates so audible, but she did not acknowledge their presence, only kept her eyes and body turned from them, and he got the impression that hers was a vigil she kept for many hours, maybe even days.

Finally, after many moments of heavy silence she spoke, her voice a low pitched alto that he did not except to come from one who appeared so young, the black speech rolling of her tongue like a small eddy of a wave breaking upon a clean white shore. her utterance of what he considered to be his own mother tongue seemed to make the words, that language created for those who lived in service of the shadow, almost melodious, her voice undulating as a swell, lilting with every syllable

"You have come to take me to the courtyard"

It was not a question, but a statement, and Shuklagl resisted the urge to take a cautionary step back. This could not, couldn't possibly be that same skeletal being whom had writhed at his feet in pain, that pure snivelling and delirious soul that he had took such delight in constantly degrading but a year before. Her voice was so sure, so commanding, and she had an air about her that, for the first time in his memory, actually struck fear into his very core.

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, as if repressing a smile, as if she heard his thoughts.

"Good. I have long been in seclusion, as Shuklagl knows well."

His companions glanced at him in apprehension, they were not the same party that had been responsible for her those long months ago, all those who had been present at the ritual had been slain on duty. Except him.

The shadows that had been thrown on the marble of her cheeks rippled across her face as she slowly turned her head and eyes to appraise with a keen glance the three bowlegged and grey skinned warriors who at the moment shared her small room with her.

And again she restrained a small, secret smile. She knew not what made her wish to do so, but their reaction to her, their almost resentful respect gave her a rush of unexpected enjoyment. They were afraid, and she was breathing it with absolute gratification. But it soon passed, as if it were the burnt out shy shell that disintegrated and crumpled in upon itself with the slightest hint of a whisper from the wind. She moved to the small cot hard jammed against the far wall, opposite the door, nothing more really than a bale of hay wrapped in white linen. Upon it Shuklagl could discern the recognisable shape of armaments, a long, sensuous curved sword among them. But it seemed that was to be left behind, for she handled only a set of modestly sized knifes, which fastened around her waist on either side so that they rested in the dip just behind her hips.

She turned back to face them, and as before, clasped her hands behind her back. A soldier standing at ease, waiting for a command. Or, as Shuklagl saw it, a commander waiting for the subordinates to carry out an order.

Lozghud, taking this as defiance moved towards her and roughly grabbed to upper part of her arm. She froze, and for all his attempts to boisterously pull her toward the door, she would not budge, but a horrible sneer crept upon her face and her eyes started to swim with an unnerving blackness. She bore it for a few minutes. And then snapped.

Her right leg came from behind him and swung round in a smooth half circular motion, connecting with his legs as it did so and throwing the unsuspecting soldier of his feet and into a sprawling mess on the floor. His head connected with the stone in a sickening crack, and Shuklagl saw him spit out a couple of teeth. She used her foot to roll him onto her back, then placed it delicately upon his neck, perfectly balanced and poised, fire in her eyes. Lozghud did not move, his mouth in an almost appreciative snarl.

" I think you misunderstood me….fine sirs, I _wish_ to go to the courtyard, it is at my own discretion that I do so, therefore you have no need to forcibly escort me…gentleman."

Pulses were running high. Resentment seared on all sides. Her tone was scything; it washed over him like sickly warm syrup, stuck to him. She had them, just where she wanted, without even seeming to try she had taken complete control of the situation. Still had her hands comfortably clasped behind her back, she had the whole time.

Lozghud was allowed up and she gave him a small one sided smile, it almost looked innocent, the smile of a child who knows when they have done something pleasing.

"Shall we?" then she pushed past them and out in to the cool of the corridor, not waiting for an answer and acknowledgement, or even to be shown the way.


End file.
